


Shindig

by Trickster_Angel



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Humor, Orlesian Ball, nothing big enough to ruin the game, set during Inquisition, small spoilers for Asunder and Masked Empire, small spoilers for Inquisition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 13:19:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2623184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trickster_Angel/pseuds/Trickster_Angel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The plan is simple. Infiltrate the ball. (Does anyone speak Orlesian?) Don't set any annoying nobles on fire. (Tempting as it may be.) Find the Inquisitor. (Who is he?) Lay low. (Which is impossible for us.) Finish the mission as quickly as possible. (Less likely anyone will know we're there.) And don't get caught by Varric. (He can't know we're here.)</p>
<p>Hawke isn’t sure why she expected she could actually meet the Inquisitor. Everywhere she goes, the worst seems to happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shindig

**Author's Note:**

> Some important things before starting this fic.  
> There are some minor spoilers for Asunder and the Masked Empire. For the most part, you won’t realize what they are unless you read the books or have played Inquisition.  
> As this fic is taking place in Orlais, some of it is written in French. If you hover over the phrases, the translations will appear. Several translations appear in the text as well. If one of the translations is screwed up or wrong, please let me know and I'll fix it.  
> I wrote this fic before DA:I came out so this doesn't match up with canon. At all. But it was fun to write so why not post it?  
> The Warden is a female, rogue Cousland named Rose. She is queen of Fereldan as well as Warden-Commander.  
> The Inquisitor is a male, mage Tevelyan named Brydann. He is romancing Cassandra.  
> I included my Orlesian Warden-Commander because why not? I like her.  
> I hope any brown coats out there appreciate the reference.  
> Please enjoy.  
>  **Edit** : This story is now available [in Russian](http://ficbook.net/readfic/2727601)! A massive thank you to [NoMadKa](http://ficbook.net/authors/31041) for translating!

Thedas was in chaos. They were the catalyst. They struck the match. And now the world was on fire.

The mages rebelled and the Templars fought to stop them. People were in panic. The Chantry was falling apart. Everything was going to shit and Hawke wanted nothing to do with it.

Once it had been the nine of them against the world.  But after they ran after Kirkwall, it was the seven of them against the world. But soon enough it was six. Then five and four and three. Only a few months after, it was only Hawke and Fenris against the rest of the world.

And the world was after them. Before Varric’s account was made public, they thought _she_ was the one who’d destroyed the Kirkwall Chantry. Even after, the people didn’t stop hunting Hawke. If anything, they tried even harder to find her, whether to confirm the story or to kill her, Hawke didn’t bother to find out. She and Fenris jumped from one country to the next, hiding in the big cities and the desolate wastelands.

It wasn’t easy. Hawke had had enough of running when she first came to Kirkwall after the Blight and Bethany’s death. After living so statically for seven years, she’d grown accustomed to Kirkwall’s craziness. Running again was less than ideal. But it was run or die, and Hawke certainly wasn’t ready to die.

And one day the sky was torn open and exposed the veil. The fade and Thedas were one and Hawke was too impressed or maybe too horrified to be angry at the amount of creative adjectives Fenris used coupled with _mages_. It was horrifying and an adventure waiting to happen. But she was done with that after Kirkwall. She was too tired.

But being Hawke seemed to be coupled with adventure and she spent her time helping others and solving problems. After all, helping people and killing people were what she did best. She charged nothing for her freelance work, so most of the time people gave her information.

She heard about the tear, what had caused it, who was responsible and what was being done to stop it. Some say it was the work of blood mages, seeking to kill the Templars and end the tyranny of the Chantry. Some said it was the Seekers, looking for an end to the mage rebellion. Some blamed the Grand Enchanter, some blamed the Chantry, and some even blamed the Tevinter magisters for lack of a better enemy.

Sometimes she heard rumors about the Hero of Fereldan, the Queen and Warden-Commander Rose Theirin. People whispered about her relationship with the king, about passionate affairs on both sides. They talked of how she was assigned to Amaranthine because her marriage with the king was falling apart. Some say she was with child when she disappeared. And where she disappeared to was the subject of hot debate. Some saw her in the Anderfels, some saw her in Tevinter. One man swore up and down that she was working as a bard to Empress Celene. Hawke didn’t even know what she could consider to be true but she listened to all of it.

What was most important to her was the story of a new hero: the Inquisitor. A man who alone survived an event that killed thousands. He was on a mission to fix the tear the in veil. It was among this gossip that Hawke first heard about Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of the Chantry, Right Hand of the Divine and one of the many people after her. She also heard that Varric was now with the Inquisitor. For a while, she had feared the worst. She was happy to hear any news about her former companions.

The more work she did, the more she heard. Eventually, she realized that the information she’d collected the Inquisitor needed to hear. Something about the old woman who told her was eerily familiar but Hawke had brushed it off. She needed to find the Inquisitor. But that was a task that was easier said than done.

Hawke and Fenris moved to Orlais, trying to find him. Hawke continued asking around, helping people, doing as she had done in Kirkwall. Six months down the road, she found a servant girl who told her about a ball that was going on in her master’s mansion. The Inquisitor had been invited and was scheduled to attend. Hawke knew she had found her way in.

Her first step was to get the old gang back together. She couldn’t imagine trying to infiltrate an Orlesian ball without her friends by her side. She didn’t want to disrupt Aveline’s new life and left her be. Varric was probably going to be there already, with the Inquisitor. But the rest, Anders, Merrill, Isabela, and Carver, were all willing to help. Finding them didn’t take as long as she thought it would. Six years had let her get to know them pretty well. Even the six years she and Carver spent apart didn’t stop her from finding him.

So it was the six of them, crowded into two tiny rooms at a nearby inn, dressing up as if they were Orlesian aristocracy. Hawke didn’t know what was funnier, that they were attempting it or that they thought that they had any shot of pulling it off.

The men were staying in one room and the woman in another. Carver had suggested that the couples should perhaps remain together. But Hawke didn’t want to waste the coin so it was two rooms, separated by gender. While she was left to stew in sexual frustration for a bit, so was Carver and it was glorious. She was thirty-four and she would never get over the joy it brought her to annoy her brother.

Now, Hawke herself was not a very beautiful woman. She hated her nose, her chest was nearly flat, and her hair was impossible to work with. But she knew more about looking pretty than her brother did.

“Get over here, Carver! You’re gonna look nice if it kills me,” Hawke said in a way that didn’t sound menacing.

“You’re not our mother!” Carver snapped back. His dress shirt was unbuttoned and he had the two loose ends of a tie around his neck, as if he was going to wear it like a scarf.

“No. I’m worse.” She was about to wrestle him into submission so she could comb his hair when Merrill came in, looking distressed.

“What’s wrong?” Hawke asked, allowing her brother to get away. For the moment. He walked back into the room where Anders and Fenris were getting ready. Maybe power walked. Maybe ran. Maybe sprinted.

“Isabela won’t wear the dress,” Merrill reported.

“She chose that dress,” Hawke exclaimed.

“You chose two dresses. It was either that one or she was going naked,” Carver intruded from behind the door to the men’s room. Anders opened the door and Fenris and Carver came out as well to watch the excitement.

“And she made the right choice,” Hawke said, cracking her knuckles, “Let me at her Merrill.”

The two women went into the additional room and slammed the door closed. The three men looked at each other.

“I’m going to listen,” Carver said, “I don’t care what you fuckers think.” To their credit, it took Fenris and Anders about thirty seconds to follow him. They stood outside the door, trying to look as nonchalant as they could. The conversation was muffled but understandable.

“Fuck that!” There was some stumbling, as if someone had fallen.

“You said you’d help us!” Footsteps stomped angrily around the room.

“And now I’m saying no.”

“You selfish bitch.”

“At least you got something right.” Something shattered in the room. “Shit! Merrill, be careful.”

“Sorry.”

“This is important Isabela.”

“You think I don’t realize that?!”

After Isabela’s shout, the room went quiet again. No man spoke a word. They looked at each other curiously, then the door opened. Merrill walked out, clearly agitated but otherwise alright.

“Hawke said she’d handle it herself,” she said calmly before walking into the other room. The room was dead silent.

“I’m more worried that they’re quiet now,” Anders said after a minute.

“Should we go in?” Carver asked.

“Hawke said she’d handle it. She can handle it,” Fenris insisted. So they waited.

“Why don’t you want to help?” After that there was more silence.

“What’s wrong Isabela?” Hawke’s voice was muffled by the door in the way but she was clearly calmer. After that, they could hear the women’s voices but their words were indistinguishable.

“Can’t tell what they’re saying,” Carver said.

“Perhaps we should go,” Fenris suggested but none of them moved.

“I’m sorry,” was the next thing clear they heard.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Isabela asked.

“I don’t know. I honestly don’t think so. But I have to try.”

“I’ve been to Orlais before. These balls are not to be taken lightly. There are going to be a lot of people there. There will be bloodshed, I can guarantee that.”

“I vote we all bring weapons,” Carver said quickly. Fenris and Anders agreed. “I’ll tell Merrill.” Carver went into the room where Merrill was changing and closed the door. Anders rolled his eyes as Fenris sighed.

“It’s a party. What kind of bloodshed can there be?”

“I’ve met some bards. This is their job. People dying at parties like this happen all the time. It’s normal. No one will question it. The Inquisitor might be dead before you can see him.”

“I’m sure we can manage to stay alive at a party like this.”

“We just need to be careful. That’s all I’m saying. Besides, where can I keep my daggers on this? How am I supposed to fight in this?”

“You’re creative. Be creative. And we’re not expecting a fight! Leave them here if you can’t find a good spot.”

“I’m not leaving my daggers here. They’ll be stolen for sure.”

“Lock your door.”

“That won’t keep anyone out!” Anders and Fenris knew that much was certainly true.

“We need to look the part or it’ll be suspicious. We can’t go walking around with our weapons clearly displayed.”

Isabela sighed. “Then we need to find a good place for them. Bring something, Hawke. Tonight is going to be tough.” The door opened and Hawke walked out. She looked at the men around the doorway and put on a nervous smile.

“We should finish getting ready,” she said, moved to join Merrill into the other room. “That’s not the best idea,” Fenris said.

Hawke stopped. “Why?” Quickly doing a headcount, she realized what was up. She turned back towards the door.

“Shit,” she said, sighing “And things were going so well.”

-

It took a while, but the six managed to put themselves together. The men were all dressed up, in suit jackets and neat hair.

Fenris had a high collar to try and hide the markings. This was a bit of a challenge but if they didn’t, he’d be recognized for sure. His outfit was black. Hawke thought it suited him, as it contrasted well with his light colored hair. He’d finally cut it so it was about the length he’d kept it at in Kirkwall. Before, it’s grown slightly past his shoulders. Hawke missed that look. She thought he looked attractive with longer hair.

Carver wore red noblemen’s clothes. They really suited him. If he had stayed with Hawke once she got the estate, she could imagine him going to all the noble’s parties like this. It made her wonder about how her life would have been different. If maybe she’d taken him to the Deep Roads with her. Would he have stuck around? But it was too late to consider that. In the moment, he looked like a noble man and would certainly pass for such at the party.

Merrill wore an emerald green dress and gloves that covered most of her arms. Her hair was completely loose. Without the little ponytails she often styled it in, her hair fell to her chin. Hawke had never seen it loose before. She was absolutely gorgeous.

Isabela had put her hair up for the event. Her loose black curls were carefully pinned in place. Hawke thought she was beautiful as well. She wore a sleek white dress and long gloves.

Anders was dressed in a black suit like Fenris, with a lower collar. He looked very handsome without the feathers. Then again, he didn’t look bad with them. His hair was shorter than the way he’d worn it in Kirkwall.

Hawke had cut her long black hair off. She brushed it out to make sure it was presentable, and dressed herself in men’s clothing, which fit her perfectly. She had helped the tailor who made her clothes meet her husband. Thankfully, no wheat nor goats were involved.

“Why did you cut your hair?” Fenris asked as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Isabela had insisted on putting make up on the men and they’d insisted against it. Hawke could distinctly hear Isabela arguing with Carver in the other room.

“They’re expecting the champion to be a woman. If nothing else, it’ll throw them off for a bit,” Hawke replied, sending her hands through her hair. She tried brushing it out of her eyes, only for it to fall back into the same place. She sighed, exasperated. It was unmanageable regardless of its length.

“It certainly is different,” he replied blandly.

“You like it,” she teased.

“I never said I did not.” He smiled at her. A real, genuine smile, one that touched his eyes and turned up the corners of his lips. Hawke could feel herself blushing. It was like they were back in Kirkwall, during that first year, when she was broke as fuck but walked around the giant city with her friends at her side. She would watch him interact with her other companions and try to hide how attracted she was to him, pretending her blush was from the sun or a result of the blood that constantly ended up on her face. Anything to hide the fact that she liked the man she’d managed to add to her group of misfits. Fenris laughed a little at her blush. Hawke felt the overwhelming urge to strip out of the nice clothes she’d just put on but buried it. Later.

She didn’t tell anyone but she had the nagging feeling that Isabela was right. She had a dagger hidden in her beautifully tailored black boots. It had been a struggle to make sure no one else brought their weapons. Staffs were conspicuous and great swords were too heavy. They’d all insisted on coming prepared and Hawke had shot them down. She understood their concern but she couldn’t have them draw that much attention to themselves. She had outright told Isabela that she couldn’t carry her daggers conspicuously but she knew that didn’t stop her from hiding them in creative places Hawke wasn’t sure she wanted to know about. And she was sure her ban on weapons didn’t stop any of them from bringing them in creative ways Hawke wasn’t sure she wanted to know about.

The last part was the masks. Fenris and Merrill’s were longer, to hide their markings. Everyone else had masks that only cover their eyes. Each mask matched the color of their clothing well. The tailor was very skilled in that fact. Everyone’s mask was colorfully ornamented with colorful feathers and beads and other decorations. Only Hawke’s mask looked different. She’d been told that often the noble families wore masks that marked their family. Therefore, hers resembled a bird. Merrill had told her that hers looked the best. Carver had complained as to why he hadn’t gotten one like hers, as he was a Hawke, but she said it’d be too conspicuous if they all matched. And she was the one who’d shelled out the coin for the masks so she got to make hers look nice. It certainly was the most conspicuous, Hawke knew. But she was sure that the nobles’ masks there going to be even fancier. She just hoped they weren’t too plain, but the tailor had insisted that they were perfect. Plain enough to go unnoticed but not so plain as they would be mistaken for servants.

“Okay,” Hawke started once everyone was dressed and ready. They all huddled into one of the rooms for the pre-ball pep talk and list of rules. “We have a mission to accomplish and I don’t think I’ll be able to do it without you. However, we have to remain inconspicuous. So no fireballs, no weapons, no way to reveal ourselves.” Things she’d gone over before but wanted to reiterate. They all looked bored, just standing around. Carver was even nice enough to give her a “yeah sure”. She felt **_so_** much better.

“Varric is going to be there. He will most likely recognize us. I have no hope for our sneakiness.” If her companions were insulted by her comment, they didn’t show it and Hawke didn’t bother to stop and find out. “Try to avoid him if possible. Do your best not to interact with anyone he seems to be. If you lock eyes, shut him up. Don’t let him say a word to anyone. We’re trying not to get noticed.

 “Anders, no mage propaganda.” Fenris had a small smile on his face. Hawke glared at him. The last thing she wanted was a fight. This shindig had already set her teeth on edge. She didn’t need intra-group fighting. “I get it. I totally get it. Please, not tonight. You’re still wanted in every country in Thedas.” The mage didn’t look too happy with the restriction but didn’t complain. “Isabela, I don’t want some scandal about you compromising the honor of some noble.”

“You remind me of Aveline when you say things like that,” Isabela remarked. Fenris and Anders muttered their agreements.

“Why isn’t Aveline here?” Merrill asked curiously.

“I’ve caused her enough trouble,” Hawke said seriously, “She’s trying to clean up Kirkwall and she doesn’t need a rogue apostate bothering her.”

“You mean more to her than that,” Isabela said, “She would have helped you.”

“Maybe,” Hawke said, “But it’s too late now. We’re here and she’s not. Just try to keep a low profile.”

“As low as we can get,” the lyrium marked, former fugitive mumbled.

“Our definition of low key started a war,” the moody ex-Templar deadpanned.

Hawke sighed and looked at the rest of the group. An elven blood mage, the pirate rogue who stole a sacred tome from the Qunari and lived, and probably the most infamous mage in all of Thedas save the Grand Enchanter herself. They couldn’t be low key if their lives depended on it and tonight, it just might. And that was a scary thought. Hawke continued, “If someone approaches you and starts speaking Orlesian, either nod and get away or get Fenris.”

“You speak Orlesian?” Carver asked.

“Yes,” Fenris replied bluntly.

“Or you could get Isabela too,” she continued.

That caught the woman in question’s attention. “Why me?”

“Don’t you speak the language?” All eyes fell to Isabela.

“Some. Not enough for what you’re thinking.”

“I’m sure you’re underestimating your abilities,” Hawke said.

“I’m sure I’m not.”

“I’m sure you can speak better Orlesian than I do,” Merrill said encouragingly.

“I guess.”

“Then you can help those that don’t.” She sighed but Hawke smiled proudly. The people in her group were so fucking intelligent it was scary.

“I think that’s everything. Let’s go. And not burn the place down.” As an afterthought, she said, “That’s an order.”

-

The ball was taking place inside some random noble’s mansion. Hawke knew the name, or Fenris did, but it was some long name and when he said it, he didn’t pronounce half the letters.

Their mansion was huge. They had to walk through a flower garden filled with more plants than Hawke had ever seen. There were so many different colors and smells that if Fenris didn’t have her arm, she would have stopped and looked around the entire night.

The fake invitations did the trick. Fenris’s Orlesian bullshitting was perfect. They got in without any problems.

“We’re in,” Hawke whispered to the group, “Remember, no fighting, no sex, keep it appropriate. If Aveline would disapprove don’t do it. Now mingle and for Andraste’s sake smile.” The group looked at each other incredulously, as if having any hope was pointless. Hawke sighed and allowed Fenris to lead her away.

At first they were in a grand entrance hall. The walls and floor were white and a double staircase curved around the room and ended in the center of the room, right by a mosaic that depicted the death of Andraste. If Sebastian were there, he probably would have had kittens just imagining people walking on that masterpiece. It made Hawke smile to image that situation, but she grew depressed remembering that he was now her enemy. Even at the risk of meeting him again, she still wanted to see his reaction to it. 

Dozens of candles lit the entranceway. A grand gold colored chandelier hung over the guests milling about in the room.  Hawke half feared it would fall and crush them all. It made her feel completely uncomfortable.

“Why are we waiting?” she whispered to her lover. The guests all remained in this one room, talking amongst themselves. “Why can’t we just go inside the ballroom already?”

“We’re supposed to wait for the hosts to arrive,” he replied.

“We showed up late for this thing and we were just in town. They live here. They have no excuse. Why haven’t they made an appearance yet?”

“Tradition.”

Hawke grumbled quietly about where exactly they could stick tradition. Fenris seemed exasperated at her ramblings but Hawke saw the ghost of a smile on his face.

“I know I amuse you,” she told him. He squeezed her hand in response. He was there by her side again and she’d be alright. She could do this, even if she felt claustrophobic in this crowded space.

“ _Messieurs et Mesdames, je vous présente-_ ”

“There are our hosts,” Fenris whispered to Hawke.

“Thank the Maker,” she whispered back, “Finally.” A beautiful woman in a long blue dress descended down the staircase and immediately the room buzzed in quiet conversations. Hawke could imagine they were talking about her dress or some rumor they heard about her. Or maybe they were talking about her mask. It was adorned in blue feathers that exactly matched her dress. At the bottom of the steps stood a man in a similarly ridiculously feathered mask. Hawke couldn’t remember what their house symbol was, but she could only guess it was some sort of bird. Yet there were distinct differences between their masks and the one Hawke was wearing. A man in the mask stood at the bottom of the stairs. As she finished descending, the man took the woman’s hand. It was obvious that they were married. After a brief introduction that Hawke barely understood three words of, they were finally allowed inside the ballroom. She heard her brother whisper, “Finally,” a little too loudly to Merrill. Hawke stepped on his foot to acknowledge her disapproval. And he stepped on hers in revenge. Thankfully, Merrill and Fenris dragged the two siblings apart before anything could get out of hand.

The room itself was adorned in gold. Yellow flowers lined the windows in glass vases and tables stood around the walls covered in different types of food. Hawke could see many nobles and some more interesting people attending. She found it hard to believe a Qunari would be invited. Unless he was with the Inquisitor.

“Do you think the Qunari could be with the Inquisitor?” Hawke asked the group as they found a place in a corner to stand. It was still very crowded in the ballroom despite how large it was compared to the entrance hall.

“Maybe,” Isabela replied, “But I plan to avoid him all the same.”

“Maybe we could talk to him,” Hawke suggested.

“Well if you plan to do that I don’t think I’ll stick around.” Just like that, she disappeared into the crowd.

Hawke sighed loudly. “One down. Do I have any volunteers to talk to him?” The rest of the group was silent. “Anyone else have any other brilliant ideas?”

“Keep your guard up and your head low,” Fenris stated.

“Thanks,” Hawke replied bluntly, “For now then, just keep your eyes open.” The group separated, to draw less attention to themselves. It seemed easier to scan the crowd alone.

“Who are we looking for?” Fenris asked her.

“A male mage,” Hawke replied.

“We’ve already seen a male mage. He followed you for six years.”

Hawke rolled her eyes at the sarcasm. “I know it’s not specific but I don’t have anything else. Just help me look. He’ll probably have a big party with him.”

“Like you?”

“Like me.”

“That party has now dispersed among the masses.”

“And perhaps his party has done the same. Now that we’ve stated the obvious, let’s look.” Fenris didn’t look very certain of their success and Hawke realized how ridiculous it seemed. How could they find one man amongst all these ridiculously dressed people, especially someone whom probably didn’t want to be seen?

“Varric joined the Inquisition correct?” her lover asked.

“He did. But there’s no guarantee he’s here.”

“I suppose not.” They descended into silence, but among the conversations and the small band that played in the corner, it was hardly quiet.

“I guess we could look for him anyway. How hard could it be to spot a dwarf?” Very hard, as the next ten minutes proved. Hawke walked all around the ballroom, gazing at the nobles dancing and talking, looking for anyone out of place or rather short. If he was there, she didn’t see him.

“Perhaps we should aim our efforts in other directions,” Fenris said, having had enough of being dragged around the room.

“Maybe you’re right. I can’t imagine he’d want to be in a place like this. The Inquisitor probably didn’t take him.” Hawke sighed sadly. As detrimental as it would have been to the mission, she still wanted to see Varric. She’d missed him over the past few years. She’d missed her crazy days in Kirkwall with all its weird happenings and stupid bandits. She’d even missed the Hanged Man, which she never thought she would.

“We should move out of this room,” Hawke suggested, “They could be hiding elsewhere.” The majority of the crowd was in the ballroom but a few were standing in the open doorways, which led to other rooms.

“I will follow you,” Fenris replied.

“Making sure I stay out of trouble?” Hawke teased.

“Wherever you go trouble seems to follow,” he replied.

“At least you’re here then,” Hawke said with a smile. If her lover was blushing, it was hard to tell. She hated how the mask completely hid his emotions. She didn’t see them nearly often enough.

Back in the entrance hall, a few people lingered about, talking quietly amongst themselves.

“The only question is how are we going to know it’s the Inquisitor?” Hawke mused.

“You might have found out before we came here,” Fenris replied.

“Stop judging my methods,” she teased, “Then we’ll look for Varric.”

“We hardly succeeded in the ballroom.”

“Then maybe we’ll succeed out here.” It was easy to tell that Varric wasn’t in the entrance hall. There were too few people there so the two went back into the ballroom. Some of the guests had made their way out into the garden.

“Maybe we should try there next,” Hawke suggested. They walked outside and looked around the garden. It was mostly young couples outside, holding hands chastely and whispering together.

The two walked among the flowers, not taking time to admire the view. The further from the mansion they walked, the less people there were. And there certainly weren’t any dwarves among the mix. Just the young couples, enjoying the night air.

“I doubt this is where we would find Varric,” Fenris mentioned. They had come into an area defined by its giant yellow flowers. They were almost as big as Hawke’s head.

“Well he always said he was a perfect gentleman. In public,” Hawke reminded him, “Still, this doesn’t seem to be the right place. Seems like a better place for a quickie.” She looked at her lover, a seductive smile on her face.

At that moment, a woman giggled loudly and said, “ _Non._ _Pas maintenant. On ne peut pas._ _Ils vont parler_.”

“ _Je m’en fous_ ,” a man replied. The woman started moaning loudly. Hawke’s smiled completely faded.

“We should go,” she said. Some things defied all cultural barriers. This was one of them.

“Yes, we should return,” Fenris agreed. They hurried back to the party.

Back inside, Hawke looked for her companions. She could see Isabela and Anders talking off on the other side of the room. They both had drinks in their hands.

“Is Justice actually letting him drink?” Hawke asked.

“He hasn’t had any,” Fenris replied. Looking again, Hawke noticed that Isabela’s drink was mostly empty while Anders’s was still full.

“Too bad. I bet this stuff’s better than the piss at the Hanged Man.”

“We should find out,” Fenris suggested.

“Inquisitor first. Then we can get smashed,” Hawke promised.

“Where to next then?” Fenris asked.

Hawke looked over the room. “Where do you think those doors go?” Along the wall across from them, there were several doors. Some were open and led into another room but some were closed. “Maybe we should find out.” Fenris shrugged in reply so the two walked along the walls, to avoid the dancing couples in the center of the room.

The first doorway led into the next room but there was a door next to it that was closed. It looked just as grand, intricate designs ran up the frame and the door itself was also very ornate.

“Let’s see what’s behind door number one,” Hawke said as she turned the knob.

Hawke recognized the Qunari from earlier. It was definitely the same man, only he wasn’t alone in this tiny room. There was an elven woman with him. They were both in various stages of undress. And they’d just turned to look at who had opened the door.

Hawke closed the door as quickly as she could. “I-” She couldn’t find the right words.  That was not a sight she’d ever thought she’d see. Fenris looked just as shell shocked.

Hawke asked, “After all the time you spent in Seheron, you never . . ?”

“No.” They looked at each other for a brief moment and then walked away from the door.

“So that’s what was behind door number one,” Hawke said, “We seem to be finding a lot of that tonight. Should we even try door number two?”

“Perhaps this time it will be the Inquisitor,” Fenris said.

“Maker’s breath, I hope not. How awkward would that be?”

“That wasn’t exactly what I meant,” Fenris admitted.

“Oh. Right. Yeah. Then I suppose it’s worth it.” They came across the second door.

“If I freeze, you have to close it,” Hawke said, as if she were about to go to certain death.

“I will,” Fenris promised her. Hawke opened the door and promptly slammed it shut.

“What’s in there?” Fenris asked, “Was it the Inquisitor?” Hawke didn’t answer his questions. She went straight for a food table without saying a word. Her eyes were glazed over and she walked as if numb. At the table, she took a glass of wine and tipped it back, swallowing the contents in one chug. She picked up a second glass and did the same thing.

“I thought you were going to wait to talk to the Inquisitor before you started that,” Fenris asked.

“Maker give me strength. I needed that,” Hawke replied. She walked back to the door without an explanation. She opened it again saying, “You little shit.”

Merrill was smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress and putting her gloves back on. Carver was arranging the mask over his face.  His hair was wild again and he had several small red marks on his neck. So did Merrill. “What?” he said, “It’s not as if everyone at this blighted party isn’t doing it.”

Hawke grabbed her brother by his lapels and dragged him out of the closet. Merrill followed anxiously behind.

“For Andraste’s sake,” Hawke said, “Try not to be stupid. We’re trying to be discreet.”

“So were we,” Carver interjected.

“Don’t cause a scene,” Fenris warned, looking at the attracting crowd. Nosy Orlesians looked at the four of them to see what the commotion was about. Hawke looked at the people as well. Her temper wasn’t cooled but she reigned it in as she said, “Go socialize or whatever.” The younger Hawke stalked away with Merrill following with him. The crowd started to disperse and Hawke and Fenris slipped back into silent anonymity.

“Maker’s breath I need another drink,” Hawke complained, “I could have lived a long, happy life without ever seeing that.”

“Perhaps we should stop looking in those doors,” Fenris suggested.

“With our luck it _will_ be the Inquisitor next,” Hawke said, “But you’re right. Let’s stick to the dance floor. Where’re Isabela and Anders? I need to make sure they’re behaving.”

“Is that honestly likely?” Fenris asked in all seriousness.

“Not at all,” Hawke replied, “But maybe I can stop trouble before it starts.”

“After all our years in Kirkwall do you truly believe that is possible?”

“Not at all.” The two moved back towards the food tables and looked for anyone suspicious. They saw the Qunari man and the elven woman coming out of the little room and purposely tried to stay as far away as possible.

A well-dressed man approached her and Fenris, chattering in rapid Orlesian. He was bald and decently old, from what Hawke could see through the mask. He held a glass of wine in his hand and Hawke guessed it wasn’t his first. Whatever he’d said, Fenris immediately replied, and the man looked satisfied. He asked something to Hawke and she nodded slightly. She didn’t have any idea what he said. Fenris jumped in and answered the man’s question. Hawke had spent months in Orlais but couldn’t follow what they were saying. She took the opportunity to scan the room.

Hundreds of men and women in fancy outfits and decorated masks stood along the walls, laughing obnoxiously and whispering quietly. She saw a man with short chestnut brown hair talking with someone who was clearly not Orlesian. She recognized his accent.

Hawke knew enough Orlesian to say, “ _Excusez-moi, s’il vous plaît. Je dois parler avec mon mari_ ,” and grabbed Fenris’s arm.

“My husband?” he asked playfully as she dragged him away.

“If you’d like,” she said sweetly, smiling at her lover.

“Is that a proposal?”

“Might be. But we have bigger problems right now.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked once they were out of earshot of the Orlesian man.

“Sebastian is here,” she whispered. She should really be careful when she wished for something. She hadn’t even seen him having kittens. That was the whole point! The Maker had failed her. “We need to be extra careful now.”

“Have you found the Inquisitor?”

“Not yet. I’m gonna let the others know.” By herself, Hawke walked along the wall, trying to spot her friends. She found Carver and Merrill standing by a food table. Merrill was surrounded by a group of young men while her brother was sulking a few feet away. She heard Merrill talking about how huge the mansion was in comparison to where she’d come from. The men nodded in approval and laughed with her.

“What? Is she seeking company elsewhere?” Hawke asked her brother snidely.

“Fuck off,” Carver snapped.

“Merrill,” Hawke said, pushing her way through the men, “I need to talk with you.”

“Alright,” she replied, looking a little nervous. She started to walk away from the men.

“Maybe we could talk again?” one of the men asked.

“No you can’t,” Carver snapped and, grabbing Merrill’s gloved hand, walked away. Hawke followed after them.

“Did I do something wrong?” Merrill asked the younger Hawke.

“I-no you didn’t,” Carver said softly.

“He was jealous,” Hawke commented, “But I need to tell you. Sebastian’s here.”

“That dick is here?” Carver asked, “Why?”

“I don’t know. Just keep a low profile. Dance or eat or something. But try to avoid people.” She didn’t wait for their reply but went off to find her other friends. Luckily enough, she found Isabela and Anders together still. Isabela had a full glass of wine in her hand and so did Anders.

“Did you try this, Hawke?” Isabela asked, “Much more rich than the stuff at the Hanged Man. Though I might prefer it.”

“That swill? This is actual wine,” Hawke said, “What are you guys talking about?”

“The Starkhaven prat who’s here,” Anders said.

“Yeah I noticed him too. Just came over to warn you.”

“It’s hard to miss that accent,” Isabela said.

“I know,” Hawke replied, “It’s especially noticeable in an Orlesian crowd.”

“Let’s hope he’s not here for us,” Anders remarked, “I don’t see why he’d be here anyway.”

“Maybe they’re trying to set up a match?” Hawke suggested, “I heard Orlais could use all the firepower it can get. And I don’t mean mages.”

“That would be the easiest way to get firepower,” Anders replied, laughing a little.

Isabela said, “Imagine being engaged to Prince Sebastian Vael. I’d pity the poor girl. I’m sure the wedding night would be-” A scream interrupted her sentence.

“So which girl just had the horror of finding out she’s engaged to the Prince of Starkhaven?” Anders asked.

“No, actually, I think that’s our cue,” Hawke said and ran towards the direction of the scream. She didn’t need to search to find out what happened. There were shades in the ballroom. The black forms growled loudly and swiped their clawed fingers at the guests.

“Oh shit,” Hawke said.

“Just like Kirkwall,” Isabela said happily, gripping her daggers.

“Where were you keeping those?” Hawke asked curiously but Isabela ran ahead into the fray.

“This is always our job isn’t it?” Anders asked. He had a dagger in his hand as well.

“Where did you get that?” Hawke asked, her voice growing increasingly agitated but he ignored her. As he went to fight she said as an afterthought, “Don’t use magic.” Sighing, she took the dagger out of her boot and went in after her companions.

There were at least twelve shades. Party guests ran screaming for the exits. Hawke saw a blond woman who appeared to want to stay and fight. She was arguing in Orlesian with a man whose outfit matched her own. Then a guard came to them both and forced them to leave. Hawke thought she saw a familiar shade of blue in the guard’s outfit.

The guards along the walls were now trying to fight the shades. There was a mage somewhere who’d summoned them, but Hawke couldn’t see anyone suspicious. In the panic, she doubted she would.

A shade popped up in front of her and she slashed at it with her weapon. It groaned in pain and tried to attack with its claws. She nimbly dodged the blow and went behind it. For a second, it was her and the shade. She lit the dagger on fire and plunged it into the shade’s back. Screaming, it collapsed and went back to the Fade.

The sound of an explosion came from behind her. She turned and was barely able to dodge a heat spell. She gracelessly slammed into the floor to avoid being burned. The rage demon growled at her and went to attack again. Hawke wished she could use her magic more openly. She got to her feet as quickly as possible, but the demon was on top of her. It leaned in to blast her with a fire spell.

But if could even summon the spell, an ice spell zipped past Hawke’s head and hit the demon. She turned around. A dark haired man stood there, staff in hand.

“Attack from behind,” he told her, and Hawke realized he’d frosted her dagger. He thought she was a rogue. As long as he hadn’t seen her cast the spell, he could think she was the Empress for all she cared. It took Hawke a few seconds to realize that he wasn’t speaking Orlesian.

The man continued to fire ice spells at the rage demon, who immediately focused his attacks on the man.  A simple shielding spell deflected them all. Hawke used the moment to attack the demon from the side. It growled in protest as she ran behind it. Again, she stabbed it. Although a bit awkward, Hawke was landing hits so she continued what she was doing.

This pattern continued for a bit, the man using his magic to freeze the demon and Hawke would stab it. She felt more confident in her abilities to use a dagger when the demon finally fell with a scream.

“Thanks,” Hawke called as she moved onto the shade Isabela was fighting.

“No problem,” the man replied. He focused his attention of a shade that a woman with short red hair was fighting.

Looking back to the shade Isabela was preoccupied with, Hawke confidently crept behind it. With her enchanted weapon, she was easily able to land the killing blow on the shade.

“Where’d you get that?” Isabela asked.

“Did you think you were the only one with a weapon?” Hawke replied.

“Not for a second.” The rogue smiled at Hawke as she went to work killing another shade.  Hawke moved over to her brother, who was fighting a rage demon.

 “Who would summon all these shades and demons? Carver asked. He had just carved the demon a new one and it screamed in pain, lashing out at him. He also had a dagger. Hawke was beginning to wonder if they all had just silently agreed to bring weapons to the ball. That was a conversation she hadn’t been informed of. As group leader, it was intolerable. Even if she had guessed they were all going to do it anyway.

“After living in Kirkwall for seven years you still want to ask that question?” Hawke replied. The frost spell had finally worn off so taking the demon down with two daggers between a mage and a warrior was harder than it could have been. Hawke missed her staff.

Just as she stabbed the demon in what she thought was the arm, a crossbow bolt hit it right between the eyes. Hawke didn’t turn to look. She knew who it was.

“Varric,” Carver warned.

“I know,” Hawke replied. She spent years fighting with him after all. She could recognize a bolt fired from Bianca any day. She just hoped Varric didn’t recognize them. They were wearing masks and fighting with daggers. The Hawke and Carver he knew certainly didn’t. But Varric was perceptive. It would be a challenge to not attract his attention.

The demon fired a flame blast spell that knocked Hawke and Carver off their feet, propelling them backwards. When Hawke hit the ground, the uncomfortable feeling of the mask against her face disappeared. She opened her eyes, able to see the world outside of the two eye holes. Her face was on display for everyone to see.

Quickly she covered her face with her hand and looked around for her mask. It had landed a few feet away from her, closer to the redheaded woman’s foot than to one of her companions. The woman stepped back and for a second, Hawke though she was going to crush the mask. But instead she turned, red hair flying, as she lightly stepped on the mask and used her foot to propel it back to Hawke. Rapidly, she put the mask back on her face. Although her vision was limited, it was better that she wore it so no one could see who she really was. Anonymity was the top priority in this mission. Hawke hoped nobody saw her face for the few moments without it.

The rage demon died at Hawke’s feet, several crossbow bolts jutting out of its large frame.

“One more for the dwarf!” Varric cried happily. Hawke hadn’t realized just how much she missed hearing that until she heard it again.

“The fight isn’t over sister,” Carver said to her as she got back on her feet.

“Got it,” she replied solemnly.

Between the guards, fifteen guests with weapons, Hawke, and her companions, the shades and demons fell pretty quickly, though there were a lot of them. Eventually, they got the situation back under control. When the Qunari slashed the last shade and it disappeared, the guards started to try and take control of the situation.

Fenris found Hawke among the crowd and kissed her around the mask. “Are you hurt?” he asked gently when they broke apart.

“No,” she replied, so surprised by his display of affection but so happy he did it, “You?”

“No.”

“Thank the Maker.”

“ _On doit aller_ ,” one of the guards said to them. Anders and Merrill looked at him, puzzled, and then looked to Fenris.

“We need to go,” Fenris translated.

“That’s gratitude for you,” Carver said. Hawke suppressed an urge to smack her brother on the arm. The other guards moved to escort the fighters out of the ballroom. Hawke was perfectly willing to let them. After the fight, she needed to find a quiet place to fix her appearance. She guessed that the rest of her companions needed to as well. At least shades and demons didn’t bleed.

Just as they were about to leave, the door slammed in front of them. All the other doors started to slam closed as well.

“Magic,” Fenris spat, but it sounded partially like a question.

“No,” Hawke replied. And elf stood on the platform where the band had been playing. Discarded instruments laid at his feet. A staff was strapped to his back.

“ _Salut,_ ” he said casually, “ _Vous comprenez pourquoi nous sommes ici, n’est-ce pas?_ ”

“ _Partissiez_!” one of the guards shouted but the elf struck him down with a fireball.

“Shit,” Hawke said as one guard said, “ _Merde!_ " The doors all opened and more elves came in with weapons. Some held staffs, others swords and daggers. There had to be at least fifty or so. There were about ten guards and twenty-one idiots who’d stuck around for the fight. They were outnumbered but perhaps not outmatched. Probably not outmatched. Back in Kirkwall Hawke once took down what remained of a cult of zealots by herself.

“ _Vous tuez mon peuple tous les temps. Mais quand je tue un de votre peuple, maintenant, c'est un problème._ ”

“What is he saying?” Anders hissed.

“He says that humans kill elves all the time but now that he killed a human, there’s a problem,” Fenris translated.

“They kill elves here?” Merrill asked, terrified.

“Where don’t they kill elves?” Fenris snapped, “And those that don’t hardly condemn it.”

“How bad is the situation in Orlais?” Hawke whispered angrily. Fuck it. She knew about all the prejudices that elves faced and it was all bullshit. How dare they think that elves are lessen being just for being born the way they were! Everyone deserved a chance at equality!

“ _Assez!_ _Je ne veux pas écouter plus!_ ” the guard screamed. The elf fired another fireball but it broke apart before it had a chance to hit the guard.

“Templar,” Anders whispered harshly.

“Be careful,” Hawke whispered back. The first guard let out a battle cry and ran to assault the elf. He mind blasted the Templar further away from him.

One of the members of their group shot off a fire spell without a word. The elf didn’t see it coming. The attack hit him straight on and he collapsed.

“ _Merde!_ ” one of the elves yelled and then the battle began.

“Everywhere we fucking go,” Hawke muttered.

“But they’re right,” Merrill told her, “Elves are at a disadvantage. We are lesser in human’s minds.”

“I know,” Hawke replied sadly, “But right now they’re trying to kill us.”

The elves were not really well trained. The guards took out the majority. But the group managed to defend themselves. In the end, they won the day, unsurprisingly. They hadn’t been hurt in the process, but the ballroom was now painted in blood.

“I’m so sorry Merrill,” Hawke said, hugging her friend, who was crying softly.

“Why did they do this?” she sobbed.

“There was an uprising recently,” Fenris explained, “that was brutally crushed by the Empress.”

“Someone here was probably involved,” Hawke reasoned. It did little to comfort Merrill.

“ _Pourquoi est-ce que tu lui attaques?_ ” one of the people in the group snapped.

“ _Je suis désole._ _Je n’ai pas voulu–_ ” whoever was speaking just stopped. Although she didn’t truly understand what was being said, the words were heavy and Hawke knew they were honest.

“ _Mages_ ,” one of the guards said. Hawke’s blood froze in her veins. Hawke couldn’t see which one had spoken through the crowd. She didn’t even know if it was directed at her. Did someone notice Merrill or Anders using magic?

“ _Les mages sont avec moi. Ils m’aident._ ” Hawke didn’t recognize the voice. She breathed a slight sigh of relief.

“ _Ils sont apostats. Je dois les apporter au Circle,_ ” the guard snapped back.

“The guard wants to bring the mages to the Circle,” Fenris whispered to Hawke.

“ _Est-ce vous savez qui je suis?_ ”

“ _Un apostat!_ ”

“ _Je suis Inquisiteur. Ils vont rester avec moi._ ”

For a second there was silence. Then the person stammered, _“ Vous êtes Inquisiteur?”_

“ _Oui. Je suis Héraut d’Andraste. Je dois réparer l’accroc de la Fade. Et j'ai besoin de mes amis pour sauver les vies des gens comme vous._ ”

“ _Je-je n'ai pas su-_ ”

“ _Fermez vos bouche. Ce n’est pas séduisant._ ” Fenris smiled at the last comment.

“Why are you smiling?” Anders demanded.

“The Inquisitor’s choice of words,” he replied.

“So he is the Inquisitor?” Hawke asked. She tried to get to where the voices were arguing but a guard stepped in the way.

“ _Partissiez_ ,” she snapped at them.

“ _Nous ne pouvons pas arrêter maintenant. C’est trop tôt,_ ” Isabela replied.

 “What did she say?” Merrill asked curiously.

Hawke did understand what Isabela had said, as much as she wished she hadn’t. Her words slowed down as she spoke. “We can’t stop now. It’s too early.”

“Figures she’d know how to say that,” Carver said. Hawke smacked him on the arm. He rubbed at it absentmindedly, glaring at her.

The guard seemed entirely unamused with their banter. “ _Partissiez. Maintenant. Ne vous disputez pas._ ”

“ _D’accord,_ ” Fenris said, “Let’s just go.”

Hawke and her friends, as well as the rest of the group was escorted outside. The guards formed a protective ring around the entrances to the ballroom to allow the servants time to clean up. The garden was large enough to allow everyone to mingle with plenty of room to spare. The guests remained blissfully unaware of what had transpired inside.

Hawke loved being outside. The multicolored flowers smelled amazing, some of which she’d never seen before. The garden was characterized by the rainbow of colors.

“This is bigger than the Viscount’s garden,” Merrill said, her sobs finally starting to cease.

“Oh, Kitten. Your makeup is smudged,” Isabela said. Merrill brought her hands to her eyes, and seemed to be surprised to find the mask there.

“It’s hard to tell,” Hawke said encouragingly.

“I can see it,” Isabela replied, “I’ll help you fix it.”

“Thank you Isabela,” Merrill said.

“Hey, be careful,” Hawke told them, “Don’t let anyone see Merrill with her mask off.”

“Oh no one will,” Isabela said reassuringly. The two women wondered off to find some safe place to fix Merrill’s makeup. Hawke wasn’t sure if she should be confident or worried.

“Well we know the Inquisitor was in there with us,” Anders said helpfully.

“But who was it? I fought alongside a mage. Was it him?” Hawke asked.  Anders shrugged.

“Where did they go?” Carver asked, scanning the garden, “You should have kept an eye on them, sister. They’d be easier to track down later.”

“Shit,” Hawke said, realizing her brother was right. The Inquisitor and his party had been lost among the crowd.

“Back to square one then,” Anders said. Hawke sighed. Nothing ever seemed to go right.

-

It took about half an hour before the guests were escorted back inside the ballroom. The band in the corner resumed playing a soft melody. Hawke and her friends had spent the entire time searching the entire garden without any luck. Back inside the ballroom, Hawke hoped there was less of a chance the Inquisitor would wander off. Once everyone was inside and comfortable, the owner of the mansion silenced the band. The quiet drew people’s attention to him.

“ _Excusez-moi, mes amis. Bienvenue à ma maison. Je comprends que ce pièce est très petite, n’est pas?"_  The Orlesian nobles laughed softly.

“What did he say?” Hawke asked.

“Excuse me, my friends. Welcome to my home. I understand that this room is small,” Fenris translated.

“That isn’t that funny,” Merrill whispered, “This place is enormous. So much bigger than my house at the alienage.” Even though she’d stopped crying, she seemed more depressed than she had before. Hawke could understand.

“ _Je suis désolé pour l’interruption avant ce soir. La situation est sous contrôle maintenant. Mais aujourd’hui, on présente le commandeur de l’ordre_.”

“He apologized for the shades.”

“Oh they’re his fault?”

“Shut up Carver,” Hawke snapped.

“And he’s presenting the Warden-Commander.”

“ _C'est dommage que la reine et le commandeur de l’ordre de Fereldan, Rose Theirin, n'ait pas pu à être ici aujourd’hui._ ” The audience whispered quickly. The atmosphere was much more unsettled and the room buzzed in dim chatter.

“What’d he say?” Anders demanded.

“What a shame that the Queen and Warden-Commander of Fereldan couldn’t be here today.”

“Rose Theirin is the Queen and Warden-Commander isn’t she?” Carver asked.

“She was invited?” Anders asked, “Why wouldn’t she come? That seems unlike her.”

“She’s missing,” Hawke said solemnly. The Orlesians didn’t seem to be sympathetic to the fact that the Queen of Fereldan had disappeared. Then again, Hawke could only assume what had happened to Rose Theirin was similar to what had happened to her. They’d both ‘disappeared’ at the same time. She wondered if it could only be a coincidence.

“ _Permettez-moi présenter, le commandeur de l’ordre, Skye Caron._ ”

The crowd looked at the woman the presenter gestured towards. She was tall and very pretty. She had blue eyes and curled blond hair. Her features were not hidden by a mask but were available for all to see. She was confident and proud. Hawke recognized her as the Orlesian woman who’d wanted to stay and fight.

“ _Messieurs and Mesdames,_ ” The Warden-Commander started.

“Could she be the Inquisitor?” Merrill whispered as the woman talked. Hawke couldn’t understand much Orlesian and most of it went over her head.

“No,” Hawke replied. This woman was prepping to command an army. While Hawke could see the greatness in her, she was not the Inquisitor. Even if she was a male mage, she would have been introduced as the Inquisitor. The real Inquisitor was hiding amongst the crowd, like them.

The Warden-Commander’s speech didn’t last very long. Fenris translated the majority of it. Apparently, she was just announcing that the Grey Wardens would remain neutral in the forthcoming civil war but anyone from either side could join them. She seemed capable and strong. From what Hawke knew of the Game, she hoped the woman wouldn’t fall victim to it, even if Grey Wardens were, in theory, a neutral party. But anything could change, especially with all the trouble that was going on.

The crowd dispersed after the speech. Some people moved towards the tables with food, others made their way to the dance floor and some lined the walls, like moving statues, to talk in low whispers about the woman who had just been presented to them.

“Where to now?” Carver asked. The group looked at one another as they moved off to the sides.

Hawke shrugged. “Split up and search for the Inquisitor.”

“We’ve been doing that all evening,” Isabela complained, “We should have some fun.”

“I’m scared what your idea of fun will do to this mission,” Hawke said.

“I have some ideas,” the rogue replied as she walked away, “I’ll see you later.”

“Be responsible,” Hawke called after her.

Fenris gave her an incredulous look. “You do realize who you were talking to?”

Hawke sighed again. Maker’s breath, this wasn’t her day.  “Let’s go search over there,” she pointed towards the other side of the ballroom, closer to the platform with the band. Not waiting for a reply, Hawke took her lover with her to the indicated area.

“Now we wait,” she said once they got a satisfactory position, “Do you see Isabela?”

“No.”

“And I doubt we will the rest of the night. Damn.” The spent the next few minutes in silence, looking for the Inquisitor or someone who could possibly be him. Or just a hint of him.

A red haired elven woman stood on the platform along with the small band. She hummed a low melody before starting to sing, “ _I’m not calling you a liar. Just don’t lie to me._ ”

“This is a sweet song,” Hawke whispered to her date, “Let’s dance.”

“I would prefer not to,” Fenris answered.

Hawke’s sweet smile crumbled. “Please? It’s such a pretty song. The dance floor is the only place not completely crowded by people. We’ll be able to look for him better.”

“I cannot dance.”

“I’m sure you can pick it up quickly. Please Fenris? It’s all part of the disguise.”

He sighed, “Very well.” Hawke smiled genuinely. Together they made their way out to the floor. A hand was placed in her own and one on her hip. 

“ _And I love you so much, I’m gonna let you kill me._ ”

They started slowly, dancing a waltz to the song. Hawke was surprised at how good a dancer he was. She was thrown back to her childhood, when her father taught her to dance. She’d step on his feet and he’d do the steps, leading her along, her mother laughing at their silly image, correcting their steps and posture while holding her baby brother and sister in her arms. But Hawke had loved it. She had never been very good but Fenris never seemed to miss a step.

“I knew you were a good dancer. How did you learn that?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember.” Hawke decided not to respond but to continue scanning the floor. “Do you see someone who could be the Inquisitor?” Hawke whispered.

“Not yet.”

“Then we’ll have to keep dancing.” She thought he smiled a bit at that, but the mask obstructed her view of his face. She’d never be able to get used to Orlesian society.

“ _Oh, to fall, to fall, to fall._ ”

 “Do you see Merrill and Carver?” she asked. She hadn’t noticed them yet.

“On the opposite side of the dance floor,” Fenris replied. Hawke immediately looked in that direction. They were dancing, just as she and Fenris were. Only Merrill had pushed herself closer to Carver than Hawke had. They looked so comfortable together. Hawke was happy for them both.

 “ _And when you kiss me I am happy enough to die._ ”

“Anders doesn’t know any Orlesian right?” Hawke asked, focusing her attention on one side of the room. She could see Anders’s strawberry blond hair among the crowd. He seemed to be surrounded by Orlesian nobles. While she couldn’t make out the words, the noticed the men and women nodding to something he was saying.

“I highly doubt it,” Fenris replied.

“Then I don’t know what he could be saying,” Hawke said. He could be talking in the common language. She just wondered what they were agreeing with.

“ _Just don’t lie to me._ ”

On the floor, she saw a woman in a white dress with dark hair doing something wholly inappropriate for the dance floor. “Is that Isabela?”

Fenris looked in the direction for a second before answering, “Yes.”

“Andraste’s knotted knickers. What did I tell her?”

“Be fortunate she has not taken someone into a side room.”

Hawke sighed. “Small favors and all that.”

 “ _Well,_ _I’m not calling you a thief. Just don’t._ ”

“There’s Varric,” Fenris whispered. Hawke turned so she could see him out of the corner of her eye. It would be hard to miss him. He was by far the shortest person there. He looked a little different, but it had been years since they separated. Hawke felt a little tug at her heart just watching him in a group with a few other people. He was chatting with a blonde elf and she laughed heartily at something he said. Next to her a tall man with a black beard smiled as well, although the gesture was aborted by the mask. Probably telling one of his famous unrealistic stories. But he was so good at telling them, you could believe them as he spoke, and took every word to heart.

“ _I’m not calling you a ghost. Just stop._ ”

Hawke had gotten some of her group back, but Bethany was still dead, Aveline was still in Kirkwall with Donnic, Sebastian still wanted to kill them all and Varric found another group of outcasts to hang out with. Seeing him made her miss the days in Kirkwall, where they’d hunt bandits at night and Varric would tell stories in the Hanged Man and they’d all drink and laugh until they passed out. At that moment, Varric turned and started talking to a man Hawke didn’t recognize. There was something about the way Varric looked at him. It reminded Hawke of something, of someone.

“ _There’s a ghost in my mouth and it’s haunting my sleep._ ”

 “He’s the Inquisitor,” Hawke said confidently gesturing towards the man.

“Are you sure?” Fenris asked.

“ _Wraps itself around my tongue, as it softly speaks._ ”

“I’m positive,” she replied.

Hawke noticed about six people around the Inquisitor. A few people of different races. They reminded her of her companions.

“ _Then it walks with my legs. To fall, to fall, to fall, to fall._ ”

They looked at him like her friends looked at her. Like Varric used to look at her. She couldn’t really describe it. Maybe the right word was respect. Respect and loyalty. They trusted his decisions and knew that even if he led them to their deaths, they would gladly go because he asked them to. She saw it on their faces and knew beyond a doubt. That man was the Inquisitor.

“ _Oh to fall, to fall, to fall, to fall. To fall, to fall, at your feet._ ”

 “Are you going to talk to him?” Fenris asked.

“When the song ends,” Hawke replied. She could already hear it slowing down. “ _And there but for the grace of God go I. And when you kiss me I am happy enough.”_

The woman took a bow and the Orlesians started to applaud her for the song. Out of courtesy, Hawke and Fenris did so as well, then bolted off the floor as fast as they could without raising suspicion.

“Inquisitor?” Hawke asked. The man turned to her. He was a particularly handsome man. Not one brown curl was out of place. He wore a mask that covered most of his face but she could see his green eyes. 

“Yes?” he asked. He sounded confused. Hawke couldn’t understand why. He was probably the most popular person at the party.  He was the Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste and had an entire entourage with him. He was probably more popular than the Warden-Commander yet he acted as if Hawke speaking to him was unusual.

“My name is Hawke,” she told him confidently.

“You’re the champion of Kirkwall!” he said in awe. Hawke smiled at the man. She hadn't seen a reaction like that to her name in a long time. It felt good to step into that role again. The woman standing with him appeared to be shocked.

“The champion of Kirkwall?” she barely managed to stutter through. Now Hawke was confused. Most people didn’t have that kind of reaction when meeting her. Mostly it was slight awe, some contempt, and a bit of reverence. But star-struck suited her just fine. It had been such a long time since she’d used her real name. She missed the power that came with her title. And if someone wanted to bask in her glory, she certainly wasn't going to stop them. 

“Yes. I need to speak with you, Inquisitor. It involves very important information.”

“You and half this room," the Inquisitor replied disinterestedly, "Everyone seems to think I can fix the veil and solve their petty problems.”

“I know the feeling,” Hawke replied honestly, “But this about the tear in the Fade.”

That piqued his interest. “Go on.”

“I was in the Free Marches at the time and-”

“Orlesian pig!”

“Fereldan mutt!”

Hawke stopped talking because she recognized one of those voices.

“Is something wrong?” the Inquisitor asked.

“If not now then soon,” Fenris said quietly.

“That seems to be the definition of my life,” Hawke sighed. 

The Inquisitor laughed a little. “Ever since the Breach that’s been mine too.” His companion sighed. “What? Cassandra, you know it’s true.”

Hawke looked around the room. She couldn’t see her brother but she could hear the argument. 

“What’s going on?” the Inquisitor said, moving towards the noise. His female companion as well as Hawke and Fenris followed. Carver and a young Orlesian nobleman were about halfway across the room, shouting insults. Merrill awkwardly stood next to Carver, not saying anything but she looked as if she was about to speak.

“Annoying little bug,” The Orlesian man snapped and, throwing his arm out, hit a candlestick. It fell onto the table, a white tablecloth immediately catching fire. Someone shrieked. Automatically, Hawke immediately aimed an ice spell and quenched the blaze. After about two seconds, she realized what she’d done.

“Hawke!” she heard in a Starkhaven accent. Shit. Hawke did a quick scan of the room. She could see Anders close to the doorway but Isabela was nowhere in sight. _Shit!_

“I’m sorry but I must go,” Hawke said apologetically as she grabbed Fenris’s hand and ran. Carver and Merrill saw her go and dashed off as well, Merrill lifting up her skirt as she did.

“Guards, arrest her. She is a criminal wanted in Starkhaven,” Sebastian yelled.

“ _Quoi?_ ” one of the Orlesian women asked. Some of the nobles looked at each other with puzzled expressions on their faces. A few guards were already after them. Hawke could hear their armor clinking.

Hawke and Fenris ran past Anders, who was still talking to some of the nobles. Apparently, he hadn’t heard anything.

“Abort mission!” Hawke shouted at him and he immediately ran out after them. The nobles seemed confused as he took off.

As the five of them made their way outside the palace, Isabela caught up with them, her dark hair streaming behind her.

“Your hair’s down,” Hawke remarked as they ran.

“Is it?” Isabela asked, feigning innocence.

Hawke wasn’t stupid. She knew what had happened. “Isabela! What did I say about compromising honor?”

“Hawke we have more pressing concerns,” Fenris said simply.

“Besides, I guarantee that _I_ didn’t have the fortunate experience of compromising his honor,” Isabela said with a smile.

“Why is everyone is having sex here except me?!” Hawke cried. Anders gave her a _look_ that said more than any amount of words ever could. Even Fenris gave her an unamused expression.

Hawke sighed and listened for the sound of metal footsteps. They were being followed.

“Let’s just get out of here,” Hawke said.

 

_Meanwhile_

 

Warden-Commander Rose Theirin couldn’t breathe.  Her stomach seemed to have knotted and her lungs weren’t working. Among the crowd, the Orlesian nobles were chattering quietly about what had transpired. Some of the guards were trying to protect their charges from an enemy that had already left and the owner of the mansion tried to reestablish order. He called out in a language she couldn’t understand but his words were reassuring and calm. Rose couldn’t remember a time she had laughed so hard.

“What is so funny?” her companion asked her.

“Zevran,” she wheezed, trying to get her laughing under control, “Where did you disappear to?”

The elven assassin grinned at her. “I met up with an old friend.” Rose was pretty sure his shirt had been a bit neater before he’d run off. And his hair was now completely loose, while before he had braided it. While she found this suspicious she decided not to pursue it. She knew what he’d been up to. The only question was whose honor had he compromised? But what was done was done and she didn’t bother to ask.

“That group reminds me of our group,” she explained, “Our little band of misfits that stopped the Blight.” She sighed, overcome with nostalgia.

Zevran looked back at the doorway the other group had left through, a look of confusion on his face. “If I may say so, we were never that bad.”

“We were never that good either. And we were never _that_ good.” She almost started giggling again. It was just too funny! Zevran didn’t argue with her.  He really couldn't. Sometimes she wondered how they’d managed to stop the Blight in only a year.

“You know, I think that was Anders,” she commented, nodding towards the doorway.

“Who?”

“When I was at Amaranthine I conscripted him into the Grey Wardens. I met him after he killed the Darkspawn that killed the Templars that were escorting him back to the Circle. I always knew he’d get into trouble, Maker bless his soul. I miss all my recruits. They were so cute.”

“Why did you leave then?” Zevran asked curiously.

The Warden looked down to the floor. Her long blue dress swirled around her feet. She kicked a foot forward and watched the fabric move accordingly. She wasn’t even sure how she’d managed to kill two shades and a rage demon in that dress.

“I needed to break a promise,” she said without looking up. She trusted Zevran with her life, she had for a long time now, but at that moment, the only person who could know about her mission was her. She still had a lot to do before she could return home. One misspoken word could jeopardize everything. It was bad enough she’d contacted him to come to the ball with her. But she could trust he wouldn’t give away her position. She knew he’d understand.

She looked back up to see Zevran’s hurt expression. That was the last thing she’d wanted to do!

“Why did you bring me to this?” he asked curiously. But that wasn’t the real question he was asking. He was asking, _why bother contacting me if you’re not going to tell me anything?_ But she couldn’t answer that question.

“Oh, Oghren would get so drunk he’d blow our cover. Do you really think I could Sten or Shale to this mission, even if I knew where either of them are? Sigrun would probably start pickpocketing the guests. Velanna has more important issues than mine. I don’t know where Justice ran off to. That’s Anders over there so, obviously. Nathaniel’s family is too famous and he’d be too noticeable here. Not to mention, he’s not the best at mingling.

“I don’t think Ariane or Finn could help me with this. Morrigan’s gone. Wynne,” she paused, “can’t.” Her voice almost cracked. The wound was still raw. “I can’t bring my Mabari to this event and Alistair,” she trailed off sadly, “Well, I’m sure you understand why I couldn’t ask him to come.”

“You know he worries about you. According to the rumors, he’s still searching for you.”

“And I’ve heard everyone else in Fereldan has given up hope that I’m alive. Although apparently the Orlesians think I am. They mentioned me at least. I wonder why? Of all the people to mention," she was rambling, avoiding the question, "And I know. I know. I hate worrying him but-” she sighed, “but I don’t know. I need to be here for now. I love him and I’ll return when this is all over.” Abandoning her dark tone, she returned to their previous topic, “And I couldn’t bring Leliana because she’s here. We’re trying to avoid her. So that leaves you. And I only needed one for this shindig.”

“Glad to know I was your first choice,” he teased. Rose laughed a little. She missed being with him. She missed a lot about the old days during the Blight. It seemed stupid to say that she missed it but she really did. They would never be a family again like they had on those cold nights in camp, eating grey-colored stew, because it wasn’t done until everything was a uniform grey color, and listening to Leliana sing. Had it really been ten years?

“Now may be a good time to talk to the Inquisitor while everyone is distracted,” Zevran suggested.

“Right. See, this is why I brought you along,” Rose said, smiling at him as she wandered over to the Inquisitor. He wasn’t being bothered by some Orlesian noble, thank the Maker. Instead, he stood among a large group of humans, elves, a dwarf and a Qunari, talking with this crowd. Rose felt a little nostalgic for her own band of misfits. These people reminded her of her companions. Maker’s breath. Ten years? So much had changed in that amount of time. And her merry band of misfits was no more.

_One good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together._ But what had happened after? She didn’t even know. Ten years was too long a time.

She stepped forward. “Hello Inquisitor. I am Warden-Commander Rose Theirin. I have something I need to discuss with you.”

 

_Epilogue_

 

“Varric.”

“Yes, Glowy?”

“Do you really have to call me that?”

“Everyone has a nickname.”

“And mine isn’t even the worst, thank the Maker.”

“So what were you saying?”

“Did you know that your former companions were at this shindig earlier?”

“As soon as everything went to shit I knew.”

“Is that what life in Kirkwall was like?”

“Life in Kirkwall was dull. Life with Hawke was what made it interesting.”

"Do you miss her?”

“Yeah. But she left another great story in her wake.”

“More to add onto the Tale of the Champion?”

“But of course. That’s one story I’ll never tire of telling.”

**Author's Note:**

> Writing is never an easy task, especially when a 5k fic gets out of hand so I have a lot of people to acknowledge. To start, thank you to my sister, for being my beta. I hope you appreciate the fact that your Inquisitor had a brief cameo. Thank you to wynnebat for the encouragement, the advice, and for trying to insert a sex scene into the story. It was a good effort but, no.  
> I have been studying French for years but I am by no means a master of the French language. I did my best but if anyone notices a mistake, please please please let me know. I’d really appreciate it.  
> Thanks for reading. Kudos/comments are always welcome.  
>  **Edit** : The talented [partimehobbit](http://parttimehobbit.tumblr.com/) has done some lovely Shindig fanart. I recommend you [check it out](http://parttimehobbit.tumblr.com/post/135882907800/inquisitor-first-then-we-can-get-smashed).


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